


A Matter of Heart

by clgfanfic



Category: Soldier of Fortune Inc.
Genre: Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-12
Updated: 2012-11-12
Packaged: 2017-11-18 11:37:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/560643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A mission turns sour and nearly costs two men their lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Matter of Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in Black Ops #4 and later in Watch Your Six #4 under the pen name Becca Koldfurr.

**Rocky Mountains, Colorado**

**11 January 1998, 0310 hours**

 

The thundering chaos overtook him, sweeping him into a maelstrom of stinging ice that assaulted the exposed areas on his face and neck, and tight pressure that squeezed his chest and sucked hungrily at his legs.  Unending somersaults nearly stripped away his reason.

 _Avalanche_ , Matt realized in a burst of pure panic that set his chest on fire and threatened to steal away what little air he had in his lungs.  Groping frantically in the kaleidoscope of light and shadows, hand fumbling for the small, hard plastic handle to the rip cord on his vest, the former Army Special Forces major prayed for the first time in years.

His fingers closed over the handle and he pulled.  The air bladders inflated, causing his vest to immediately swell, pushing it up higher alongside his neck and catching painfully under his ears, but it increased his buoyancy and he could feel himself rising.

His lungs straining, demanding oxygen, Matt wasn't actually sure the safety device had worked until he was mindlessly gulping in two deep breaths of cold air before feeling himself being pulled under again.

Then something large struck him hard across his shoulders and Matt grunted, trying to draw himself into a ball.  A moment later another blow glanced painfully off his right leg.  He surfaced again, his arms flailing this time as he tried to keep himself on the surface, but the roiling mass of snow and debris pushed him down a second time like a surfer trapped under in a breaking curl.  But he was moving slower, or at least, he thought he was.

Rocks and portions of broken and uprooted trees pounded him like a hail of angry fists.  He concentrated on scissoring his legs, trying to propel himself to the surface again, his arms curled up around his head to keep himself from being knocked unconscious by stone or tree.

A flash of sunlight told him he was free of the suffocating tumble again and he struggled as best he could, gasping for as many breaths as he could draw before he was rolled under once more.  He curled into a ball, his arms back over his head, and continued to pray.

Then there was silence, as profound and complete as any he'd imagined.  He opened his eyes, but there was nothing to see beyond unending white.  He sucked in a sharp, shallow breath, realizing that, with his arms over his head, he'd inadvertently created an air pocket for himself.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

 _Thank you, Lord_ , he silently acknowledged.

Thoroughly disorientated, Matt forced himself to take several more breaths while he begged his mind to start working again.  The panic subsided, replaced by a determined will to survive.

 _Okay, I'm alive.  I have to stay that way until they can find me.  Which way am I facing?_ he asked himself.

_Only one way to find out._

He chewed on the inside of his cheek until his fear-dry mouth finally began to water, then let the spit dribble over his lips, waiting as it ran over his chin, then along his jaw toward his ear.

 _Okay, I'm almost lying on my back_ , he noted, the thought helping to ease the vertigo that threatened to make him vomit.

He closed his eyes and imagined his situation.  He was almost lying on his back, his knees bent like he'd been caught in the middle of a sit-up.  His fingers were still laced behind his head, his forearms pressed alongside his ears, making the sit-up image even stronger.  And he was buried under who knew how much snow.  Buried alive.

The panic flared again, but he forced it back by thrusting out angrily with his legs.  His feet drove a little deeper into the compressed snow, but no more.  He tried forcing his arms up, but they were trapped as well.

"Hey!" he cried as loudly his could, but his cramped position made it impossible to actually yell.  "Hey!  Help!  Can anyone hear me?"

He waited, the rapid fire beat of his heart the only thing he heard.  He let out the breath he was holding, then sucked in another.  The small air pocket couldn't sustain him for very long.

He started to claw with his glove-covered fingers, digging shallow furrows in the packed snow.  If he could get at least one of his arms free, he could reach the air tube on his vest; he could use the air in the inflated bladders to keep him alive a little longer.

Long enough for his team to find him…  If they hadn't been buried right along with him.

Had they been caught in the avalanche?  He tried to remember, but couldn't recall anything to say they had, or hadn't.

He closed his eyes and willed himself to calm down… breathe slowly… relax.  But his fingers continued to scratch away at the snow that trapped his arms.

He looked down and saw the beacon he was wearing, one of the pieces of equipment Russ had insisted they all take, along with the vests, poles, collapsible shovels, and space blankets.  If the rest of the his team was alive, they might be able to find him.  But could they do it in time?

 _Too soon to worry about that_ , he told himself.  His thoughts remained scattered.  _How'd I get here?_ he finally asked himself, hoping it might focus his mind.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Silver Star Hotel**

**Hermosa Beach** **, CA**

**9 January, 1645 hours**

 

Matthew Shepherd looked at each of his team-members, making sure that they understood the mission.  Mrs. Emily Taylor and her three children had been taken from their home six days ago, along with some classified papers.  Mrs. Taylor's husband, Daniel, was a gifted software engineer, and one of the few people who knew the secrets behind the security software being used by several major US and EU banks.

But Daniel Taylor was an honest man, and he'd gone to the police to help him, despite being warned not to.  The local police, in turn, called the F.B.I., who needed to contact the Justice and State Departments due to Mr. Taylor's past work on government computers systems, and his overseas contacts.  But somehow the kidnappers had found out that the authorities had been contacted, and Michael, the Taylors' oldest boy, was dropped off in a park near the Taylor home – dead.

"Major, why isn't the F.B.I. handling this?" Chance said, looking a little concerned.

"No way to be sure the leak isn't on their end," Matt replied.  "F.B.I., Marshall's Office, people over at State and Justice – the leak has to be somewhere, but there's no way to know where.  Mr. Taylor turned to a close friend of his in the Pentagon, asking for help, and that friend called Trout."

"Who called us," Margo finished.

Matt nodded.  "Trout had some of his people pick up Mr. Taylor."

"Bet that's got the rest of 'em hopping," C.J. said with a grin.

"You could say that," Matt agreed.  "No one likes being squeezed out of the loop, but as of right now, this whole operation is ours and ours alone."

"How'd we get the location?" Chance asked.

"Trout wasn't exactly forthcoming on that, but he promised me it's the real deal."

"Sir, how are we gettin' in?" Benny Ray asked.

Matt hesitated a moment, then said, "We'll be hiking in."

"Hiking?  _This_ time of year?" Margo questioned, her green eyes rounding with surprise.

"Come on, people," Matt responded, "you've all had cold weather training."

"But it's _January_ ," C.J. offered, looking more than a little concerned.

"There's no other way in to the cabin the kidnappers are using – snowshoes, skies, or snowmobiles, are the only way, and the latter is too noisy," Shepherd said matter-of-factly.  "So, we hike."  He waited to see if there were any other objections, and when there were none, he nodded.  "All right.  I'll see all of you back here first thing tomorrow morning.  Have your gear ready to go and dress for the cold.  I want to hit the ground in Colorado running.  They only gave Mr. Taylor ten days to turn over what they want.  By the time we get there, eight of those days will have passed.  We can't afford any mistakes."

The four operators headed off, a few grumbles drifting back.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Silver Star Hotel**

**10 January, 0500 PST**

 

Matt walked down to the basement of the old hotel carrying his gear.  He dropped his duffel bag down next to the four others lined up near the foot of the stairs, then headed over to get a cup of coffee and a power bar; he'd eat a real breakfast when they got to the airport.

He stopped, blinked, and stared, unsure what he'd expected, but knowing what he was seeing, most definitely, wasn't it.  This was his hand-picked team?  These were the four highly trained, elite operators he'd thought were among the best in the world?

Matt scowled as he puffed out a soft sigh.  "Well, well, well," he said, his tone half-condensation, half-amusement, "what've we got here?"

The objects of Shepherd's ire all turned to look at him.

"Somethin' wrong, Boss?" Benny Ray asked, honestly at a loss.

Matt shook his head.  "I said be ready for cold weather, and what do I get?  Two damned snow bunnies," he said, looking pointedly at Margo and Chance, "Rambo does the Arctic," he added, his gaze shifting to the sniper, "and an Eskimo!"  With the last he glared at C.J., who was almost hidden inside his fur-trimmed parka.

Four explanations drowned each other out and Matt waved them all to silence.  "I can see we need some additional training," he said, prompting four groans.  He allowed himself a grin.  "C.J., where in the hell did you find that get-up?"

The Brit pulled himself up, his chest puffing slightly as he replied, "I'll have you know, this parka survived the assault on—"

"All right, all right," Matt interrupted before the man could get started.  "It'll do."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Rocky Mountains**

**10 January, 0945 MST**

 

The team stood on the covered wooden porch of a high mountain Ranger station, admiring the view that stretched out before them.  The jagged mountain peaks, some reaching 13,000 and 14,000 feet above sea-level, were covered with snow.  Thick stands of pine, growing at lower elevations, created green skirts below the otherwise pristine white peaks.  Clear blue sky overhead made the morning bright, and they all wore sunglasses to protect their eyes from the sparkle of sunlight glinting off the fresh powder on the ground.

Two Rangers moved from operator to operator, securing a vest over their jackets.  When they were done, they handed out other equipment, taking their time to describe each item's use and its limitations.

When they were done, the older Ranger, Brad Clarke, added, "Here's a map.  The cabin you're looking for is marked.  Be careful, people, you're going to be moving through terrain that borders on recreational wilderness areas.  You might run into back-country skiers, snowboarders, or snowshoers.  We'd appreciate it if you didn't kill off any tourists – it's bad for business."

Matt grinned and nodded.  "I can imagine.  We'll do our best."  He glanced down at the map.  "Where can we get a lift out?"

Clarke stepped closer and peered over Matt's shoulder at the map.  He reached out and tapped a spot.  "That's about the only spot a chopper's going to be able to get in low enough to pull someone out.  But even that's going to depend on Mother Nature.  The weather service is calling for another storm to arrive in thirty-six to forty-eight hours, so you'd better make it quick."

"Shouldn't take us that long," Matt assured the man.

"There'll be someone manning the radio here 24-7," the younger Ranger assured, his gaze still sweeping nervously over the weapons they all carried.  "When you need a lift, you just let us know.  Search and Rescue bird should be able to reach you in fifteen to twenty minutes.  You shouldn't have any trouble contacting us in that location, but if you end up in a canyon, you might have to climb out to get a signal."

"We appreciate the help," Matt told the two men.

"Glad to be of help," Clarke said, extending his hand to Matt, who shook it.  "It's damned good to see you again, Major."

"Likewise," Matt replied, slapping the Ranger's shoulder.

"Why don't you try and get back up here next season for some elk hunting?  I'd be happy to show you around."

Matt nodded.  "I'd like that, Sergeant.  You have my number now, give me a call and I'll see what I can do."

The former Delta Force sergeant nodded, his gaze sweeping over the others to include them as well, "You're all welcome."

"All right, people," Matt said.  "Let's get moving."

"Oh, Major," Clarke said, "one more thing.  If you stay on the route I marked, you should be fine, but if you have to wing it, be sure you stay off any inclines greater than thirty-five degrees.  We had a few warm days in mid-December and the avalanche danger is high right now with all the fresh powder."

"Will do," Matt assured his old friend.  He gestured for the team to head out.

"Hi-ho, hi-ho, it's off to play we go," C.J. sang happily as they trudged down the steps to the snow-covered ground.

"C.J.," the sniper growled, silencing the explosives expert.

The two Rangers watched the operators until they disappeared into the pines.  The forest service hiking trail they were using would take them to within a mile or so of the target cabin.  From there Shepherd's team would have to make their way in on the main trail that the cabin owners had built to access the state-maintained one, or they would have to veer off, moving through a quarter-mile of wilderness to reach the fire road that would take them to within a hundred yards of the cabin.

Clarke shook his head, feeling the familiar buzz in his gut, and he wished, not for the first time that morning, that he was going with them.

"Hey, Brad, who are those guys?" Tim Andrews asked.

The older man grinned and snorted.  "Them?  Hell, kid, they ain't anybody.  You just forget they were even here."

Clarke turned and walked back into the building, determined to man the radio himself until he heard from his old commander.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**In the Rockies**

**10 January, 1320**

 

Even using the government trail, the going was slow.  Snowshoes made the trek possible, but they encountered frequent snowdrifts and occasional downed trees blocking their path.  And it wasn't long before they were all breathing heavily from the high altitude and the hard work.  Matt checked his watch often, watching as the precious daylight hours quickly passed.

## We have to be getting close–

"Sir, this is it," Benny Ray said, interrupting Matt's thoughts.

Shepherd looked up, his gaze sweeping over the landscape.  It looked exactly the same as what they'd been hiking through.  "You sure?"

"GPS fix says the trail leading into the cabin should be right here," Margo replied, nodding at the snow and trees.

"Must not have kept it up very well," Chance offered.

Matt sighed.  "We only have about three hours of good light left.  We can either head out for the cabin, or we backtrack and use the fire road.  Suggestions?"

"I say we hump it in," the sniper offered with a shrug.

The others nodded.  They might be tired, but they were a long way from done in.

"Okay," Matt agreed.  "Benny Ray, you'll take point.  Chance, watch our six.  We don't know if they'll have anyone out watching the trail."

The two men both nodded.

Matt checked his watch again.  "Okay, we rest for ten, then move out."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Outside the Cabin**

**10 January, 1450**

 

Matt lay on the snow, hidden in the shadows of a large spruce, as he carefully surveyed the quiet cabin with his field glasses.  Now and then he could see movement inside the structure, but the thick curtains made it impossible to determine exactly how many people might be inside.  Satellite intel had put the number of tangos at five, but there was no way to know if they were all in the cabin.  Shepherd knew without looking that the other four team members were all in place and ready to move as soon as he gave the word.  But he wanted to wait for the sun to drop a little lower in the western sky, behind the razor ridge rising behind them.  As soon as it did, the small canyon would be swallowed by shadows that would help cover their advance.  So he waited, continuing to watch the windows on his side of the building.

As soon as the sun disappeared from the sky, Matt spoke into his lip mike.  "Anything?"

"All quiet, sir," Benny Ray replied.

"Nothing here, Major," Chance said.

"Quiet as a grave," C.J. added.

"All right," Matt said, "we go in three… two… one."

The operators moved in on the small cabin from different directions.  Matt and C.J. entered through the front door, Benny Ray and Chance from the back.  Margo covered the windows on the south side, the north side left unmanned, being a solid wall.

Shepherd heard the muted sound of silenced HK-MP5s firing at the rear of the house even as he was moving forward, his gaze sweeping over what was the living room.  He immediately headed for the only door he saw, saying into his lip mike, "Right."

C.J. headed left to the hallway.

Standing, his back pressed against the wall, Matt opened the door, then moved inside in a crouch.  In the bedroom he found Mrs. Taylor sitting on the bed, a young boy of no more than four or five, and dressed in Sesame Street pajamas, held tightly in her arms.  Her eyes were wide and frightened, but they immediately flickered from Matt to an open door in the room.

Shepherd was moving before he even realized what it was he'd seen in the mirror above the bathroom sink, his own silenced H&K coming up, firing when a man stepped out of the bathroom, a Glock in his hands.  The man jerked twice, then fell as the woman keened softly, pulling her son's head around so he couldn't see.

Matt reached the bathroom door in three long strides.  He checked the small room, then the man, who was dead.

"I have the woman and boy," he announced into his lip mike.  "One tango down."

"All clear," Benny Ray announced a moment later.  "Two tangos down."

"All clear here," C.J. added.  "No contact."

"Clear," Margo announced.

"Clear," Chance said, "one down."

"On your toes, people, we're missing one," Matt said as he moved for the only hiding place available in the bedroom, a closet next to the bathroom door.

The woman pulled her son closer as Matt raised his HK to fire through the closed door.  Her voice was an anxiously hissed whisper, "No.  Please.  He has my daughter."

"Is he in there?"

"I don't know," she said.

"Double-check the closets.  Be careful. Tango has a hostage," Matt said, moving so he wouldn't become a target if the last man bolted from hiding.  "Meet me in the bedroom."

Even as Shepherd said the words, the closet door burst open.  A man lunged out, a Browning in one hand.  His other arm was wrapped around the waist of a young girl dressed in flannel pajamas, using her as a shield.

"Back off!" the man snarled at Matt.

The woman on the bed cried out as she scrambled off, her son still in her arms.  "Please, don't hurt my daughter!" she pleaded.

"Put the gun down!" the man barked at Matt.

"Major, I have a shot," Benny Ray voice stated softly in Shepherd's ear.

"Take it," Matt said, releasing, then holding out his HK-MP5.

The man hesitated for a fraction of a second, surprised by Shepherd's apparent surrender.  That was all the time the sniper needed.  A muted pop sounded in the silence and the man dropped to his knees before pitching forward.

The little girl screamed, her feet kicking wildly as she struggled to free herself from the dead man's grip.

Matt moved forward, Benny Ray slipping past the door a moment later to help him lift the man up so the child could escape.  She shot to her feet, but didn't know what to do next, fear freezing her there.

Benny Ray checked the man, then handed his MP5 to Margo, who now stood in the doorway.  He knelt down in front of the girl and smiled reassuringly. 

"It's okay now, darlin'," he said softly.  "You're gonna be just fine."

She stared at him, her blue eyes appearing even larger than normal with all the color drained from her face.  The sniper watched the girl's eyes fill with tears, then her lower lip twitched.  A moment later her entire body was shaking.  He scooped her into his arms and carried her over to the bed, where her mother joined him.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"We've come to take you home," Margo assured her.

"Oh, thank God," the woman gasped, her eyes closing for a moment.  When they opened again, she asked, "My husband and son?"

Matt frowned, but said, "Your husband's waiting for you."

"Michael?" Mrs. Taylor asked.

Shepherd shook his head.

"Oh, God," the woman gulped, squeezing her youngest child a little tighter.

Benny Ray wrapped the girl in a blanket, then carried her out into the living room and sat her down next on the fire-warmed hearth.  Her mother followed, one hand on her daughter's arm, her son cradled close to her chest.

"Sarah?" she asked worriedly.

"It's all right, ma'am," Benny Ray assured her.  "She's just a little scared.  It'll wear off in a minute or two.  Why don't you and your son sit with her for a bit."

Mrs. Taylor nodded, meeting the sniper's gaze.  "Thank you."

Benny Ray nodded, then glanced at the girl.  She was close to his own daughter's age.  "Just sorry she had to get caught in the middle of it."

"We're alive," Mrs. Taylor said softly, reaching out to push the hair off her daughter's face.  "That's all that matters.  We can deal with the rest later."

Matt watched the interaction, then turned to Chance.  "Call the chopper in.  The sooner we get these people out of here the better."

"Yes, sir," the pilot replied, heading outside to make the call.

Margo moved over to Mrs. Taylor, then asked, "Do you have any other clothes?"

The woman looked down at her flannel nightgown, then shook her head.  "They took us while we were sleeping.  We woke up here."

"All right," Margo said.  "I'm going to grab a blanket for you and Andy."

The boy looked up when he heard his name and Margo smoothed his pale blond hair.

"I wanna go home now," he said softly.

"I know, sweetheart," Margo said softly.  "You're going home very soon, I promise.  How does a ride in a helicopter sound?"

He smiled, his eyes brightening.  "For real?"

Margo nodded, then looked to Mrs. Taylor.  "The local Search and Rescue people are going to fly you to Denver.  Your husband's waiting for you there."

Emily Taylor's eyes filled with tears.  "Thank you," she said, reaching out to grab Margo's hand and squeeze.

C.J. stepped up to them, holding two more thick blankets and a pair of boots.  "You might need these," he said, offering Emily the boots.

At first it looked like Mrs. Taylor might refuse, but she nodded and took the shoes, pulling them onto her sock-clad feet while C.J. wrapped Andy in one of the thermal blankets.

"Are you gonna fly the helo-copter?" the boy asked.

C.J. grinned.  "No, not me.  But I know someone who flies choppers.  Planes, too.  Would you like to meet him?"

Andy smiled.  "Yes!"

The Brit looked to Mrs. Taylor, who nodded.           "Very well," C.J. said, scooping the bundled-up boy into his arms, "I'd be very pleased to introduce you to Mr. Jason Walker, pilot extraordinaire."

Once Emily had the boots on, Matt stepped up to her, saying softly, "Mrs. Taylor, these men, did they have some papers they took from your home?"

"Yes," she replied.  "I saw one of them here with a briefcase my husband uses, but I don't know what they did with it."

"Could you take a look around with Margo, see if you can find it?" Matt asked.

She glanced anxiously at her daughter, who was still staring at the carpet, tears rolling silently down her too-white cheeks.

"We'll stay with her, ma'am," Benny Ray assured the woman.

Emily looked back to Matt.  "All right."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

While Mrs. Taylor and Margo searched the cabin, finding the missing briefcase sitting at the back of the pantry, Matt checked with Chance on the ETA of the chopper.

"About fifteen minutes out," the handsome black man replied.  He and C.J. were sitting on an over-stuffed sofa out on the porch of the cabin, fielding a string of non-stop questions from the four-year-old boy: Are those real guns?  Do you kill lots of people?  How did you get here?  Are we all going to fly home in the chopper?

Matt left them to keep the boy entertained, stepping back inside.  He went to the fireplace and quickly put out the fire.  Benny Ray had moved Sarah to the couch and was sitting at one end with the girl in his lap.  He used a tissue he'd found somewhere to wipe off her cheeks.

"She okay?" Matt asked softly, feeling completely at a loss.  Put him in the middle of a war and he knew what to do, but faced with a crying seven-year-old girl, he was stumped.

Benny Ray nodded.  "Will be," he said, giving the little girl a hug.  "Just a little bit scared.  Right, darlin'?"

Sarah wrapped her arms around his neck and held on tightly, her cheek pressed tight against the top of his shoulder.  The sniper gently patted her back through the thick blanket, then smoothed her long blonde hair.

"I'll bet you'd like to see your daddy, wouldn't ya?" he asked softly.

She nodded.

"Well, he's waitin' for you and your mother and brother in Denver.  Have you ever been to Denver before?"

She shook her head.

"Do you know where Denver is?"

"Colorado," she whispered.

"Hey, that's right," Benny Ray said, patting her back again.  "I'll betcha he's gonna be real happy to see you.  Maybe you can talk him into takin' you someplace real special.  What do you like to do, Sarah?"

"I like horses," she replied softly, her grip still tight.

"Horses?" Benny Ray asked.  "You know, I have a daughter, Katie, just about your age, and she likes horses, too.  Do you have a horse?"

"Daddy says I have to wait 'til I'm older."

"Oh, I see.  Well, I think he's a pretty smart daddy," Benny Ray told her.  "See, I told Katie the same thing."

"I want to see my daddy," Sarah added, a tremor in her voice.

"Soon, darlin', real soon.  We're gonna take a ride on a helicopter, and your daddy will be waiting for you when you get off."

She let go and pulled back so she could see Benny Ray's face, then asked seriously, "Did you kill that man?"

The sniper hesitated for a moment, then nodded.  "Yes, darlin', I did.  I was afraid he was going to hurt you, and your mother and brother."

"Was he a bad man?"

Benny Ray nodded.  "Yes, he was."

"You won't shoot my daddy, will you?"

"No, I'd never hurt your daddy, Sarah."

She studied the sniper for a moment as she decided whether or not to believe him.  Then, having made her decision, she leaned back against Benny Ray's chest and wrapped her arms around his neck again, but this time her grip wasn't as tight.

"What's a helicopter like?" she asked.

"Well, it can be a little bumpy, but it's a lot of fun," the sniper said, then proceeded to tell her all about the view and how it would feel like she was flying, just like a bird.

Matt shook his head, amazed by the scene.   _My sniper_ , he thought.  He'd have frozen up on the first question.  He glanced over as Margo and Emily returned.

"We have it," Margo announced, holding up the briefcase.

C.J. leaned into the room.  "Chopper's here, Major."

"Hear that?" Benny Ray asked Sarah.  "Time for that ride."

Holding her, the sniper stood, then wrapped the blanket a little tighter around her and carried her outside.  Mrs. Taylor followed him.  Matt watched the woman glance at the closed bedroom door and shiver.  The family would have some healing to do, but, like she'd said, they were alive.  The rest could wait for another day.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

The operators watched and waved as the Taylors were hoisted into the chopper in a gurney basket, two of the Search and Rescue people riding with them.  Once they were safely inside the chopper, it swung off to the east, headed for Denver.

"Hey!" C.J. squeaked, waving more frantically.  "That's our ride!"

"No, it's not," Matt said, trying not to grin.

"You don't mean…?" Margo started, trailing off when she saw Shepherd's emerging smile.

"Look, it's obvious we need to work on our cold weather skills," Matt told them.  "We'll sleep here tonight, deal with the local authorities in the morning, then we're going to hike back out."

"Back to the Ranger station?" Benny Ray asked, looking the least concerned of the group.

"I was thinking more along the lines of that ski resort that's up here," Margo offered with a hopeful arch of her eyebrows.

"Wrong, on both counts," Matt replied.  "There's an old ski lodge about six miles from here.  The Army used it back in the 40s when they were training troops on skies for the European theater.  We're headed there."

"You sure it's still there?" C.J. asked.

"Brad Clarke said it was," Matt assured them.

"You and your old Delta buddy set this up, didn't you, sir?" Chance asked.

"We did," Matt admitted.  "So, grab your gear and let's get moving.  We don't have much daylight left."

"But you just said we were going to spend the night here," C.J. said, waving at the cabin.

"I said here, C.J., I didn't say _in_ the cabin."

A chorus of four groans was the reply.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Rocky Mountains**

**11 January, 1327 hours**

 

Matt lay under the snow, wondering briefly if his people would bother digging him out after the cold night they'd spent, trying to stay warm enough to sleep.  It hadn't been easy.

After a moment, he tried moving again, and this time was able to work his right arm free.  He quickly fumbled for the air tube, pulling it up to his mouth and sucking in a breath of the fresh oxygen.  He closed his eyes in thanks.

Breathing as slowly as he could, Matt reviewed what he knew his team was doing.  First, if any of them had escaped the avalanche, they would be using the small locators Clarke had given each of them to try and find him.  The devices were tuned to the beacons they all wore.  He reached up, making sure that his was still hanging around his neck.  It was.

Once they found a strong beacon signal, he knew they would spread out in a line and use the long, thin telescoping poles they carried to probe into the snow, trying to find where he was buried.  And they _would_ find him, and use the collapsible shovels to dig him out.

He would survive…  If they weren't all buried…  If they could find him in time.

 _Damn those idiots!_ Matt thought.  They'd been less than a mile from the old ski cabin; less than an hour away, depending on how the wind-blown drifts were stacked up.  He'd been planning to wait until everyone was warmed up, then tell them that their next stop was going to be that ski resort Margo had mentioned.  Clarke would pick them up in the morning and drop them off for a few days of R &R.

But his plan had been upset when they'd heard the low roar of approaching snowmobiles.  He and the others were moving along the base of a ridge, working their way around it, rather than try to cross over it due to the angle of the incline.  But the snowmobiles were traveling along the top of the ridge, clearly outside the boundary of the park where they would have posed no danger to anyone, including themselves.

The drone of the engines grew louder and louder, and Matt stopped, watching as three young men on their machines appeared along the top of the ridge, then turned sharply and headed away again, racing.  A moment later a low growl announced the first rends in the snow pack, and almost instantly the wall of white began to move above them.

If he ever got his hands on those three men…

Matt shut those thoughts off.  They might have been lost.  They might not have known the danger.  They might just be three stupid jackasses who didn't give a flying fuck about who they put in danger.  But in any case, it was too late to worry about now. 

He remembered yelling for them to scatter… running as best he could in the snowshoes… hearing the deafening rumble… being swept off his feet… Matt's teeth began to chatter and he shivered.

 _Come on, guys.  It's getting cold under here_.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Matt wasn't sure how long he'd been buried when the probe poked painfully against his abdomen, but it scared him more than he was willing to admit that he'd somehow fallen asleep.  He grabbed for the tip, but his fingers refused to close on the thin shaft.  He tried again, gritting his teeth against the pain and fear, this time getting a grip on the metal pole just as whoever was using it started to pull it up again.  He hung on, making them fight for it.

A muffled voice called, "Major?"

"Here," Matt gasped, knowing he couldn't penetrate the snow piled above him.  "I'm here."

"Matt?"

Shepherd groaned as the probe was pulled free from his hand, but moments later he heard the tearing sound of shovels digging into the snow above him.  They had found him…

He smiled and closed his eyes, relief making his chest tight.  The last thing he remembered was feeling the tears begin to fill his eyes.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"I've got him!  I've got him!" Benny Ray yelled to the others, who were spread out in a line, each probing the snow with their poles.  "Major?" he called, then paused to listen, but he didn't hear anything.

"Matt?" Margo called, hurrying over to join the sniper.

"Dig, people!" Benny Ray said, pulling his shovel free.

Beside him, Margo opened her pack and pulled her shovel out, beginning to  dig as well.  Chance hobbled over to help, and C.J. stood, watching them work, his splinted wrist making it impossible for him to help.

It took ten minutes before they uncovered the major's knees.  In a flurry of shovel scoops, then digging with their hands, they finally freed Shepherd a few minutes later.

"C.J., call Search and Rescue," Benny Ray snapped.

The Brit nodded, digging for his radio while the sniper and Chance helped move Matt out of the hole he'd been trapped in.

"Bloody hell!  Nothing!" the explosives expert said, a touch of fear and frustration making his voice rough.  "I can't get a signal out."

"Damn it," Benny Ray growled, glancing around.  "That ridge must be cuttin' off the signal."

"It'll make it next to impossible for a chopper to get in here, too," Chance said, looking up at the rocky thrust of mountain and really studying it for the first time with a pilot's eye.

"We'll have move him to the top," Margo said, "then call for help."

Benny Ray looked from Margo to Chance to C.J.  There was no way any of them were going to be able to make the climb easily.  Margo's ankle was sprained, Chance's knee was wrenched, and C.J.'s wrist was broken.  That just left him.  He'd taken a good blow to the head, his vision still not completely cleared, but he'd have to carry Matt to the top himself.

The sniper looked up at the top of the ridge, sighed softly, wondering if he could do it.  Not that he had a choice, but he still had to wonder.

"Let's get to it," the sniper said.

The first thing they did was check Matt over for any injuries.  Finding nothing serious, they did what they could to warm him up, then wrapped him in the space blankets they all carried.

Benny Ray bent forward, Matt draped against his back and waited as Margo and Chance tied Shepherd securely in place.  Once that was done, they immediately set off for the top of the ridge.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

The constant jarring movement slowly penetrated the constricting blackness holding Matt prisoner.  Consciousness rose, increased, focused, but not enough for him to actually open his eyes and see what was going on.  So he allowed his mind to drift, finally becoming aware of sensations.

He could feel his legs swinging, like he was sitting on a table too tall for his feet to reach the ground, but the table was bucking, jerking him up and down.

Then he heard it, the labored huff of a man nearly out of breath.

 _Who is it?_ he wondered.  _Why is he out of breath?_   The questions arose, found no corresponding answers, then drifted out of consciousness.  His mind drifted again.

He was warm… finally warm.  In fact, he could feel a tremendous amount of heat rising from the pillow he was lying against… _No, not a pillow_ , he realized, _someone's shoulder_.  He could feel the tight nylon weave of a jacket against his cheek, smell the wet-plastic odor of the material.

But he still couldn't understand what was happening.  Where was he?  What was going on?  Why?

He groaned softly, frustrated over not finding any answers for a second time and the movement stopped.  Somewhere in the far distance Matt thought he could hear voices, but he couldn't make out the words being said.  Reaching for the sounds, he strained to hear and tried to open his eyes, but he couldn't do either.  He fought a moment longer, then stopped.  It wasn't that important.  The fear that had first gripped him in the tumble of the avalanche was gone.  He felt safe, even if he wasn't exactly sure why.

Relaxing again, he sank into the warmth, basking in the comforting glow that wrapped around him.

The movement began again, a little less jarring than before.

With nothing to do, Matt started an inventory.  His legs were swinging, his feet still cold, but not the rest of him.  There was a tightness cutting into his thighs, but it wasn't really painful and he ignored it, continuing his mental examination.  His back was cooler than his chest, but not cold.  His chest was pressed tightly against something, making it a little hard to breathe, but it wasn't nearly as bad as it had been when he'd been buried under the snow.

 _When_ he'd been buried?

He tried drawing in a deep breath, and was able to do it with just a little effort, but much less effort than sucking on the tube to his vest.  Pausing, he considered the changes, then smiled.

He definitely wasn't buried under the snow any longer.  A quiet thrill thrummed through his body.  He was free!  They'd found him.  _Thank God_ , Matt thought.

His shoulders were rolled forward, his arms wrapped around something.  He tried to move them, but he couldn't – something held his arms fast in place.  He concentrated on his hands…

His wrists were bound.  He shifted his focus to his fingers, still inside his gloves, but the fingertips brushed nylon against nylon.

Then he realized what he was feeling, what was shifting under his cheek: muscles.  And in an instant, realization struck.  He'd been tied onto someone's back, someone who was trying to hike out with him.

 _Christ_ , Matt thought.  That was insane.  He could clearly remember the terrain.  The climb was too steep, the danger of another avalanche too great.  But at the same time, he knew they wouldn't care.  If they thought he needed help, they'd get him out as quickly as they could, and that meant climbing up that ridge to the top where they could call for a Search and Rescue chopper to come get them.

 _Who is it?_ he wondered, trying to force his eyes open, but they still refused to cooperate.  So he listened.

The labored breathing was back, and he could feel the muscles under the jacket straining, working as hard as they could.

He wanted to tell whoever it was to stop, rest, but he knew it would be useless.  He couldn't even open his eyes, how the hell was he going to find a way to speak?

A few moments later he suddenly felt weightless for a brief moment before he was jerked hard, like when his parachute opened on a jump.  The sudden stop even sent bolts of pain slicing through his thighs and shoulders.

His heart began to beat faster.  What had happened?  Were they caught in another slide?

Matt quickly grabbed hold of his thoughts and emotions, forcing the fear back so he could think, concentrate.

No, they weren't caught in another avalanche.  In fact, they weren't moving at all.  The only sound he could hear was the gasping breath, the only thing he could feel were the trembling muscles under him.

A low, soft groan accompanied a slow rise, and a few moments later they were moving again.  The man's breath came in wheezing gasps, and his steps grew increasingly unsteady, but he pushed on, determined.  Whoever it was, he wasn't going to stop, not until he reached the top.

Matt just hoped that whoever it was could make it.

Soft grunts echoed through Shepherd's mind, no doubt wrenched out of his rescuer by the incredible pain that kept the man's muscles twitching and trembling, even as he continued on.

It wasn't Margo, that much he knew.  And whoever it was, he was too large for it to be C.J.  That left Chance or Benny Ray.  Or maybe a Ranger, or a Search and Rescue man.  He wanted, needed to know who it was, but no matter how hard he tried, Matt couldn't force his way past the last barriers that kept him in the half-waking state to full consciousness.  He groaned again with frustration and the movement stopped a second time.  The man's body was shaking so hard Matt expected him to fall, but he didn't.

The voices returned, some sounding concerned, but they still sounded too far away for him to make out the words being spoken.  A few moment later he was moving again.

Matt wasn't sure how long they traveled, but his world was quickly limited to the rasping, straining gasps that passed for breath and the feel of the muscles under his cheek as they strained in an effort to save his life.  That knowledge brought tears to his eyes for the second time that day.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Margo and C.J. reached the top of the ridge first, both dropping immediately into the snow, gasping for breath.  The climb had been incredibly hard for all of them, but especially for Benny Ray, who was burdened with Matt.

When they caught most of their breaths, they turned and watched as Chance picked his way carefully over half-buried rocks and felled trees.  His limp was more pronounced than it had been earlier, but the same could also be said of Margo; C.J. cradled his arm to his chest, the pain he was feeling clear in the grimace on his face.  The rough sound of Chance's breathing reached them.

Margo crawled to the edge of the ridge and extended her hand, saying, "Chance."

The pilot looked up, and a moment later realized what he was seeing.  He took her proffered hand, letting her help pull him up and over the last of the incline.  He turned around and dropped heavily into the snow next to Margo, panting to regain his breath.

Below them, Benny Ray continued to struggle up the slope, his wheezing gasps masking all other sounds as he inched closer to the top.  The sniper's face was flushed and shiny with sweat that also beaded on his forehead and ran down the sides of his face and into his eyes, but he ignored the sting, focusing only on reaching the top of the ridge.

As soon as C.J. caught his breath, he dug the radio out of his pack and called for help.  "Twenty minutes," the Brit announced when he was done.  "They have our position; they're on the way."

Margo forced herself to her feet and, looking down at Benny Ray, called, "Search and Rescue's on the way!"

The sniper didn't even look up, just forced one foot in front of the other, silently praying that his strength didn't fail him before he reached the others at the top.  But he wasn't sure he was going to make it.  It was getting more difficult to breathe, and his legs were growing heavier and harder to lift.  And, worst of all, he could see a tight band of blackness cutting off his peripheral vision, creeping slowly toward the center of his vision.  He knew he had to reach the others before his vision went black, otherwise they would end up dragging both him and Matt the rest of the way.  And given the steep rise, he doubted that they could do that without someone getting more seriously injured.

Blinking the sweat from his eyes again, he sucked in a breath as best he could and kept moving forward.

"He's not going to make it," Chance said softly, shaking his head.

"He has to," Margo replied, her gaze locked on the sniper.  "Almost there," she called to the struggling man.

"Way to go, Brother Ray," Chance added.

"You can do it, mate," C.J. encouraged.

They watched as the sniper stumbled, fell to his knees in the snow, then pushed himself up and continued on.  The same thing happened twice more, but  he was getting closer; only a few more yards to go.

"Here, Benny Ray, right here," Margo called when it looked like he might veer off.  "You're almost there."

"A few more steps," C.J. said, then shook his head and added in a softer tone, "Bloody amazing."

"Everybody comes home," Chance replied, in a near-whisper.  "Everybody."

"Come on, Benny Ray," Margo called, "you can do it.  You're there.  You're there."

The sniper could hear the voices, he could even understand some of the words, but the meaning washed over him, incomprehensible.  He was lightheaded, and that was probably making it hard for him to make out what they were trying to tell him.  He'd do better if he could just draw in a few deep breaths, clear his head.

Unable to draw those deep breaths, he panted hard, trying to hold the blackness off, but it kept crowding in, trying to suck him into the welcoming oblivion he knew awaited him in the darkness.  When hands grabbed his arms, helping him the last few steps, he didn't even notice.

"Hang on, Benny Ray," Chance said, immediately starting to untie Matt while Margo helped him.

A few moments later they lowered Shepherd to the ground, C.J. moving to check on the major while Chance and Margo guided Benny Ray to a large stone jutting out of the snow, warm and dry from the sunlight shining on it all day.  They helped the sniper sit, exchanging worried looks over the wheeze that rattled out of the man's chest.

"Benny Ray?" Margo asked, taking the sniper's face in her hands and lifting it so she could see his eyes better – they were a little glassy and the skin around his lips was blue.  "Can you hear me?"

He blinked once, and nodded.  "Can't… breathe."

"Easy," Chance said, turning when he heard the sound of the chopper approaching.  "Help's on the way, man," he said, turning back to the sniper.  "Just keep breathing."

"Tryin'…" Benny Ray said.  "Matt?"

"He's doing better than you, mate," C.J. said.

Benny Ray tried to shoot the man an annoyed glare, but he just didn't have the strength to do it.  A moment later he felt the first buffet from the chopper's rotors as it moved in to hover above them.  He focused on drawing one breath, then another, and another as a basket was lowered, Chance and Margo moving Matt into it, then climbing in themselves to be winched up.

"Time to go," Chance said into the sniper's ear.

Still wheezing, Benny Ray stood, managing three steps toward the next basket before the blackness finally overtook him and he collapsed face-first into the snow.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Community** **Hospital**

**Aspen** **, Colorado**

**11 January, 1620 hours**

 

Margo sighed heavily and pushed off the sofa to pace in the small waiting room.  She checked her watch, then scowled when she found only twenty minutes had passed since the last time she'd checked – forty-five minutes since they'd arrived at the hospital in Aspen.

"You should stay off that ankle," C.J. said softly as she passed him.

She glanced down at the explosive's expert, a sharp retort dying in the back of her throat.  The Brit's arm was in a cast, and his expression was sincerely concerned.  She glanced down at her ankle, wrapped tightly in ace bandages, then sat down next to C.J. with another sigh.

"We'll hear something soon," he assured her.

She nodded.  "We'd better."

Chance, who was lying stretched out on a second sofa, his knee immobilized and his leg resting on a pillow, his eyes closed, chuckled softly.  "I don't think storming the nurses' station is going to help much."

"You never know," Margo replied, allowing herself a tired grin.  "What could be taking them so long?"

Neither man had an answer for her, so they continued to wait.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Almost an hour later Margo looked up to see a young man entering the otherwise empty waiting room.  He was wearing jeans, a dark maroon tee-shirt, matching socks and black Brikenstocks.  He smiled, asking, "Friends of Mr. Shepherd's and Mr. Riddle's?"

Chance sat up, Margo and C.J. standing.  The man gestured for them to sit back down.

"Yes," Margo said, dropping back onto the sofa.  "Are they all right?"

The young man walked over and sat down next to Chance.  "I'm Nick Russkin.  I treated Mr. Shepherd, and he's doing very well.  We're moving him to his own room now; you can see him as soon as he's settled.  We're going to want to make sure there are no complications, but everything looks good so far."

"What about Benny Ray?" Chance asked.

The doctor glanced at the pilot.  "I'm not the attending, but I can tell you he was still being treated."

"Mr. Riddle is going to be fine," an older woman said, joining them.

"This is Dr. Sanja Assbecki."

The woman nodded to the others, then sat down next to Dr. Russkin.  She was in her late fifties, with short black hair, liberally salted with silver.  Deep laugh lines around her pale brown eyes gave her an air of matronly affection.  Her skin was a deep coco brown.

"What's wrong with him?" C.J. asked her.

"He took a pretty good knock to the head—"

"What?" Margo interrupted, looking from Chance to C.J.  "Did he say anything?"

"Not to me," C.J. replied as Chance just shook his head.

Dr. Assbecki smiled.  "He told me he didn't say anything.  But the blow weakened him, and when you add the climb, well, to make a long story short, he had the equivalent of an asthma attack, and he's currently taking his second nebulizer treatment.  He's also strained a great many muscles, and I want someone in our sports medicine department to do an evaluation of ligaments, tendons.  To be honest, I cannot understand how he did it, not with the headache he must have had, and then the respiratory inflammation."

"Pure stubbornness," C.J. supplied, his expression half-amused, half-awed.

"That is as good an answer as any," Dr. Assbecki agreed.

"No," Chance replied, shaking his head, "it was just a matter of heart."

"Whatever it was, he probably saved Mr. Shepherd's life," Dr. Russkin said.  "Not to mention that it spared all of you more serious injury."

"But he'll be fine, right?" Margo asked the two doctors.

"I think so," Dr. Assbecki said.  "We're going to keep him overnight, to see how his lungs respond to the treatments.  I've scheduled an eval in the sports clinic for tomorrow morning; Dr. McCouch is very good."

The two physicians stood and Dr. Russkin smiled at them.  "Don't worry, they'll both be fine.  And you can check with the nurses' station to find out what Mr. Shepherd's room is.  Mr. Riddle will be joining him in a little while."

"Thank you," Margo said.

"You're very welcome," Dr. Assbecki replied.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Community** **Hospital**

**11 January, 2040 hours**

 

Matt glanced into the open hospital rooms he passed as he was wheeled down the hall to his own room, then moved into a narrow bed.  He was still tightly wrapped, and the orderly who worked over him made sure the heated blanket was tucked in around him from feet to shoulders.  Then the regular hospital bed blankets were added to keep the heat trapped close to his body.  His feet were encased in at least two pairs of socks, and there were mittens on his hands, a knit cap on his head, and something wrapped around his neck.  Still, he wasn't too warm, in fact, he was just getting truly comfortable for the first time in many hours.

"Thank you," he said, his voice sounding weak and rough.

The orderly smiled.  "No problem."  He grabbed a cord with a button at the end.  "If you need anything, just call for the nurse.  I'm going to go get you something warm to drink.  Would you like coffee or tea?  Maybe some soup?"

"Coffee's fine."

"Okay, I'll be right back."

Matt watched the man leave, sleep making his eyelids heavy and he wondered if he'd even be awake when the man returned.  That concern vanished when he saw Margo lean into his room.

"You awake?" she asked him.

"I am now."

She smiled and stepped into the room, Chance and C.J. following right behind her.

"How're you feeling?" the pilot asked.

"Better," Matt said.  "Still thawing out, but at least my teeth have stopped chattering."

"Nothing else?" Margo asked, her expression skeptical that he could have escaped the avalanche unscathed.

Matt sighed softly.  "Couple of cracked ribs – a tree trunk thought it was a bat and  I was a ball – some bruises, a few cuts, and a lump the size of an egg on the back of my head, but that's all."

"You were lucky, Major," C.J. informed him, shaking his head in disbelief.

Matt's eyes narrowed as he studied the three operators.  "What about all of you?  And where's Benny Ray?"

"Uh, we're all fine," Margo hedged.

"Those bandages don't look 'fine' to me," Matt countered.  "I want to hear a report, people – right now."

Chance and C.J. both looked at Margo, and she looked at them.  Sighing silently, she wondered how she'd suddenly gotten elected to be the spokesperson for the group.

"For me, just a sprained ankle," she explained, deciding that she'd let them explain their own injuries.

"Badly sprained," C.J. clarified, then held up his arm.  "Fractured wrist."

"Wrenched knee," Chance added, gesturing to his leg.

"And Benny Ray?" Matt asked, watching as all three operators glanced away.  He felt his chest tighten.  "Was he–?"

"No," Margo interrupted.  " He's going to be fine."

"Then where is he?" Shepherd demanded, still worried.

"He's still being treated," Chance explained.

"For what?" Matt asked, his voice rising.

"He has a bump on the head," C.J. replied.

"And he had something like an asthma attack," Margo added.

"What?"

"He can tell you all about it when they bring him in," Margo said, nodding at the empty bed in the room.

Matt was going to demand more information, but decided against it.  There was plenty of time to find out what was going on.  The important thing was that the sniper was going to be fine.

The orderly walked in, carrying a tray with a small glass pot of coffee and a cup.  A plastic container was stuffed full with packets of sugar.  He set the tray on a bedside stand and rolled it over so it was in easy reach.  "Be sure to put in as much sugar as you can," the man instructed, then left.

Matt prepared his coffee, adding almost twice as much sugar than he usually would.  He made a face when he tried a sip, but he knew he had to force himself to drink the syrupy liquid.  Looking up, he said, "Okay, you three get out of here; get some sleep."

"Matt," Margo started to argue, but Shepherd held up his hand to silence her.

"That's not a suggestion," he added.  When he saw the three exchange mutinous glances, he added, "You told me the doctor said he was going to be fine.  Anything you want to add?"

"No," Margo said.  "Get some rest.  We'll see you in the morning."

Matt nodded, then asked quickly, "Who…?"

"Benny Ray, sir," Chance said.

"That's what I thought," Shepherd said softly.  "Now get out of here."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Community** **Hospital**

**12 January, 0750 hours**

 

Matt woke several hours later, warm and pain-free thanks to the medication a nurse had brought in sometime earlier.  He blinked and opened his eyes.  It was light outside; he must have slept all night.

Rolling his head to the side, he checked the second bed.  Benny Ray lay under the covers, asleep.  He studied the man's face, noting the dark circles under his eyes, but other than that, he looked fine.  He wasn't hooked to any machines as far as Shepherd could tell, then he noticed the device attached to the man's finger.

 _Well_ , he thought, _that makes sense.  If he was having trouble breathing, they'd want to monitor how much oxygen's in his blood_.

When they got out of the hospital, he owed the sniper a beer and a thank you.  Shepherd could still hear the strangled wheeze in his mind as Benny Ray had humped his ass to the top of the rise, and remembered the way the man's muscles shook with exhaustion.

"Hey, Benny Ray," Matt called softly.

The sniper's eyes blinked open and he grinned.  "'Bout time."

Matt returned the smile.  "Yeah?  How're you doing?"

The sniper nodded as he pushed himself up so he was sitting up in bed, but the movement was clearly painful.  "Sore," he said by way of a reply.

"I'll bet."

"Got all your fingers and toes?"

Shepherd grinned.  "Yep.  I'm fine."

The sniper nodded.  "Yeah, me, too."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Community** **Hospital**

**13 January, 0740 hours**

 

Matt woke to the soft sounds of the television in his room.  He glanced over at the second bed, but it was empty and made up.  They had released Benny Ray yesterday afternoon.  The sniper was due for several sessions of physical therapy once he got back

to Hermosa Beach, but he would be fine.  That made him feel much better himself.  With luck, he'd be leaving in the afternoon himself.

Not that anyone was in a rush for him to be discharged.  They all seemed to be enjoying their time in the Colorado resort town.

"Good morning," Margo said, noticing that Matt was awake.

"Morning."

"They tried to drop your breakfast off a while ago, but I thought you'd rather sleep.  I'll go let them know you're awake so they can bring it up."

"Thanks," Matt replied, looking forward to the coffee, if not the rest of the meal.  It seemed that hospital food tasted the same no matter where you were.  "Where is everybody?"

Margo's eyes rounded slightly and her eyebrows arched.  "They're… out.  Taking in the sights," she added.

"Sightseeing?"

She smiled warmly.  "Aspen's a beautiful town, and you should see some of the boutiques."

"Pass," Matt replied.

Margo used the remote control to turn up the volume on the television, suddenly very interested in whatever it was that Bryan and Jane were talking about.

Matt sighed and shook his head.  Something was going on, but she obviously didn't want to talk about it.  A volunteer arrived, carrying his breakfast tray, and set it up for him.  He thanked the older man, then lifted the plastic cover, setting it on the bed and dug into his food.  An interruption for breaking news caught his attention and he glanced up, watching as a parka-clad reporter started speaking.

"…we have some amateur video of the incident that took place here, not far from Aspen earlier this morning…"

The screen shifted to an area around a ski resort.  At one side of the frame was a long row of snowmobiles, on the other the edge of a building.  In the center of the frame was a pretty young woman who was smiling at the camera while she held a two- or three-year-old girl.

All of a sudden three of the snowmobiles exploded in what was an obviously well-contained fashion, at least to a trained observer.

"Why these three snowmobiles exploded is under investigation, but local authorities believe it was an intentional act.  Luckily, no one was injured in the blasts.  The early hour meant that tourists were, for the most part, still in their hotel rooms."

Margo grabbed the remote and pressed the mute button just as Matt bellowed, "Where are the dogs?"

She met Matt's accusing glare and shrugged.  "I, uh, I'm not sure, they—"

"They were out there, blowing up three snowmobiles," Matt hissed, his voice low so no one should overhear.

Margo held his eyes, then pulled herself up and replied, "They deserved more.  They knew exactly what they were doing, and they didn't care.  They also saw the avalanche, and us, but they didn't report it.  Be grateful I talked them into _just_ blowing up the machines."

Matt blinked.  "They knew?"

She nodded.

He shook his head, then said, "Get them on the cell…  I want to say thanks."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Silver Star Hotel**

**Hermosa Beach** **, California**

**17 January, 0900 hours**

 

Matt accepted the thin metal briefcase Trout handed him, asking, "So, how are the Taylors?"

"Dealing with the loss of their son," the older man replied sadly, but then he brightened a little, "but I hear Sarah and Andy are telling people all about the 'commando angels' who rescued them."

Matt grinned and chuckled softly.

"How are you doing?  All of you."

"Fine," Shepherd assured.  "We just need a couple more weeks and we'll be good to go when you need us."

Trout nodded, a sly smile curving the corners of his mouth.  "And that, uh, incident?"

"What incident?" Matt asked.

Trout shook his head.  "You were all damned lucky you weren't caught."

"Or damned good," Matt offered.

"Oh, and what was this I heard about an elk hunting trip?"

"You wouldn't want to go," Matt said.  "Too cold."

"I like the cold.  I do well in cold.  Have you been to the Pentagon lately?  The budget talks are damned frosty."

Shepherd laughed.  "All right, you're invited."

"Great," the older man enthused.  "When do we leave?"

The End


End file.
